is here again.

The next day, Zhou Heng had two obvious bluish-black patches under his eyes and his face was pale.

He deliberately changed into a stand-up collar shirt that could completely cover his chin, buttoning the collar up meticulously, even the top button was fastened tightly, in an attempt to conceal the unspeakable marks on his neck.

His gait became a little awkward, and a dull ache emanated from the back of his waist and legs, making him curse that unknown bastard eight hundred times over in his mind.

When Xiao Jue entered the inner study, he was talking to Zhao Canjiang. Hearing the voice, he looked up and his gaze lingered for a moment on Zhao's overly tight collar and haggard face.

"Zhou Heng, you look terrible. Didn't you get enough rest last night?" Xiao Jue's tone was normal, revealing nothing unusual.

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat, but he forced a smile and said, "Thank you for your concern, Lord Marquis. It's nothing, it's just that... there were a lot of mosquitoes last night, which kept me from sleeping well."

He couldn't very well say that he was "beaten up" by some weirdo, who-or-not-yourself, by the stream, could he? That would be incredibly embarrassing!

Xiao Jue looked at him without saying anything, but raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and gave a faint "Oh".

Since that night, Zhou Heng has completely given up on the "high-risk activity" of bathing in mountain streams.

He preferred to go through the trouble of drawing water from the well himself after his shift each day, carrying it to his small barracks, closing the doors and windows tightly, and then using a wet cloth to wipe his body.

When the rough-around-the-edges soldiers in the same battalion saw this, they couldn't help but make a few sarcastic remarks.

"Zhou Canjun, you're like a young girl, always hiding in your room to wash yourself? Who are you afraid of seeing?" a sergeant with a full beard teased loudly.

"That's right, that stream is so refreshing! Men should go there to wash!" another chimed in.

Zhou Heng rolled his eyes and retorted irritably, "I want to! Well water is clean, is that a problem? There are too many mosquitoes by the stream, and they bite me!"

He spoke tough, but he was actually very uneasy. Now he saw everyone as a suspect, even Zhang Tiezhu, whom he usually thought was quite honest, he had to look at him more closely.

I'm extra vigilant at night, checking the doors and windows repeatedly, wishing I could put a cabinet on top of them.

However, it's impossible to guard against everything.

That night, Zhou Heng finally slept soundly due to exhaustion and mental tension from the past few days.

In his dazed state, he felt a heaviness on his body, as if a thick blanket was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He unconsciously tried to move, attempting to turn over, but he couldn't.

Something is wrong!

Zhou Heng jolted awake and suddenly opened his eyes—all he could see was darkness, not the darkness of night, but something tightly covering his eyes!

He instinctively reached out to pull, but felt a clear sense of restraint on his wrist.

"Ugh!" He was horrified and was about to cry for help when a warm, dry hand with calluses precisely covered his mouth. The force was not strong, but it carried an undeniable threat.

A deliberately lowered, distorted, and unrecognizable unfamiliar male voice rang close to his ear, carrying a mocking laugh: "Awake? Don't shout."

"If you dare make a noise and attract attention..." The voice paused, and another hand, with a suggestive undertone, gently but dangerously swept across him...

"I knocked you unconscious, and then... I took you. Tell me, is it better to keep quiet, or to make a scene so everyone knows?"

Zhou Heng felt his blood run cold.

That voice is fake! He can't recognize it at all! And that threat... it's too vicious!

If people were to come and see him now, bound and disheveled, he could feel a chill run down his spine. How could he ever face anyone again?

Those who know the current affairs are handsome.

Zhou Heng immediately became obedient, lying there stiffly, even his breathing became soft.

Seeing that he had become obedient, the hand loosened its grip slightly and instead gently stroked his cheek. Zhou Heng felt nauseous and wanted to vomit, but dared not move.

"That's a good boy." The voice, distorted, chuckled softly, carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Then, the man's breath drew near, carrying an indescribable scent mixed with a faint aroma of soap and leather, and captured his lips.

It wasn't the rough grinding like by the stream last night, but rather a slow, deliberate, even forceful, prying open his jaw.

Zhou Heng's mind was buzzing as he was forced to endure this aggressive kiss.

His eyes were tightly shut, his body trembling slightly. He had already mentally cursed every swear word he could think of: Damn it! You pervert! Don't let me find out who you are! Otherwise, I'll... I'll...

But he didn't even know who the other person was, so what could he do? A deep sense of powerlessness and frustration welled up inside him.

The man's hands weren't idle either; they were all over his body… Zhou Heng gritted his teeth, desperately telling himself: Just pretend I've been bitten by a dog! Just pretend I've been bitten by a dog! Why the hell won't this dog leave?!

After an unknown amount of time, just when Zhou Heng felt he was about to suffocate or explode from the pent-up frustration, the other person finally ended the long and suffocating kiss, even giving him a light peck on the lips as if still wanting more.

"It tastes good," the distorted voice mumbled, tinged with satisfaction.

Then, Zhou Heng felt his wrists loosen and be untied. He immediately tried to tear off the blindfold, but heard the voice warn, "Count to one hundred before you move, or else..."

Zhou Heng froze.

The rustling of clothes, the lightest footsteps, the faint sound of the door being opened and closed... everything returned to silence.

Zhou Heng lay stiffly on the bed, enduring it again and again, and finally silently counted to one hundred in his mind—in fact, he had already lost count, and when he roughly estimated that the time was about right, he suddenly ripped off the blindfold.

The barracks were empty, with only the pale moonlight filtering through the windows. The ambiguous marks on his body were even more pronounced than the night before, especially on his lips.

He silently got up, found his clothes scattered on the ground, and put them on one by one. The burning anger inside him made his chest ache.